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Chapter 10: En Prise

House had to stop six people before he found what he was looking for – or at least until someone would let him have it. The refusal of the couple in the elevator had been honest, and maybe that of the woman immediately afterwards, but the male nurse and two teenagers had been lying through their teeth, and it wasn't until he had offered one of the kids twenty dollars that he had finally succeeded in securing his prize.

Pausing for only a moment outside the patient's room, he stared through the slats between the half-closed blinds at the figure lying listlessly on the bed. He knew the man by his symptoms, hadn't the slightest idea what his name was or anything about him outside of his medical history – just like any of his other patients. And he would have remained that way – blissfully ignorant – if he hadn't seen the look on Cuddy's face as she had uncovered the scars on the little boy's back.

The anger would have still been there, certainly, but not this strange feeling of personal violation. The boy's pain had sparked Cuddy's, and her pain was his – had been, he realized, long before he had broken into her house, though he couldn't say exactly when.

Sliding open the glass door, he barged into the patient's room, pulling a cigarette from his newly-acquired pack and tossing the box onto the bed. "Three days in here without a smoke must be rough." He put the cigarette in his mouth and lit it, an action he had practiced more than once through college and medical school, though rarely with straight tobacco. "Go on – light up."

The patient had hardly reacted when House entered – glaring at the pack of cigarettes and lazily rolling his eyes in House's direction, obviously none-too-thrilled at this intrusion. "I don't smoke."

House froze immediately, putting on a show of flustered embarrassment. "Sorry. Here, let me put this out." With a quick gesture, he pressed the lit end of the cigarette against the back of the patient's hand, holding it there for only an instant before the man pulled away, swearing viciously.

"What the hell're you doing?!"

"Putting out my cigarette," House answered, matter-of-factly. "See, in my day, we just threw them on the ground, but from what I've heard, this is all the rage now."

Beads of sweat dotted the man's pasty forehead and he glared at the welt already forming on his hand. "Get out of here."

"Yellow teeth, bad breath, nicotine stains on the fingers…."

"Where the hell's your supervisor? I told that girl of yours that I wanted to see your boss an hour ago. Your whole damn department's a joke."

"An hour ago, you and I hadn't even yet," House pointed out.

The patient narrowed his bloodshot eyes, staring much too viciously at him through the slits between the lids. "You're an asshole."

"You're awfully judgmental for a guy who abuses his son."

"I don't have a son." The statement was matter-of-fact – there was no surprise, no outrage at the accusation of abuse.

"Right. And you're also not a smoker."

"I quit. Last year." His breathing was labored now. "I want a new doctor."

"Not much of a selection. Only two guys accept transfers from my department, and I don't think the phrase "child abuser" will get you past St. Peter's pearly gates. Lucky for you, the other guy's not as picky, and hey, you're all about dry heat and flames, right? Why bother – "

"Get the hell out of here."

" – with a game of catch or checkers when all you need for some father/son bonding is a lighter and a little – "

Sitting up and swinging wildly, the patient let loose with a roaring chain of expletives – some even House had never heard before, though he did offer a few creative suggestions on his way out the door, leaving the patient red-faced and breathless behind him.

He made his way to his conference room. His team had been mid-conversation – by the guilty looks on their faces, not at all related to the patient – but quieted quickly as he entered and limped hurriedly to the whiteboard. Scribbling RAGE in large, heavy letters, he turned and faced them expectantly.

The younger doctors stared at him. "You know it isn't a symptom if you baited him, right?" Foreman finally offered.

House ignored the question. "When you broke into his place, did you find any Legos in the fridge or Cheerios in the couch cushions?"

Cameron frowned. "It was messy, but – "

"Frat boy messy or four-year-old messy?"

"Thirty-year-old bachelor messy," Foreman replied, arms crossed.

"Any chains in the closets?" House asked, stepping up to where Foreman leaned against the wall and staring him down. "A cot hidden in the corner of the basement or secret hideout in the attic?"

Foreman held his ground. "It was a studio apartment, not the Tower of London. No basement access, no attic, no closet space, and definitely no one else living there."

"What does this have to do with – ?" Cameron tried to intervene, leaning over the back of her chair to face him.

House wheeled as she started to speak, jabbing his cane at her. "Get Cuddy."

She stared at the tip of his cane, frowning. "We haven't even picked a test yet."

"And even if we had," Chase added, tipping his chair back, "why would you – ?"

"I like you better when you're silent and stupid," House spat, turning to Cameron. "Cuddy. Go."

Cameron's eyes swept from his, and he knew they must be locking with Foreman's behind him. Foreman, in turn, no doubt meeting Chase's stare. Chase shrugged, the motion seeming to sum up the thoughts of the three of them: just go with it.

Cameron did, shooting House a curious look before leaving. His two remaining underlings shifted uncomfortably. House checked his watch: somehow it was already two minutes over the twenty Cuddy had allowed him. If he had attained the confession he had sought, she might not have minded, but he knew that even a mere 120 seconds off her schedule, she would be fuming, one hand on her phone and ready to dial.

Foreman was the first to break the silence. "Rage can be attributed to psychosis."

"Another symptom," House muttered, picking up his cane and swinging it like a golf club. "Not a diagnosis."

"But with the flu-like symptoms, we could be looking at syphilis. We should do an LP."

"Fine." He swung again. "Go with it."

"Fine?" Chase asked, incredulous.

"Jealous?" House responded dryly, crumpling a blank sheet of paper into a ball and dropping it on the floor, lining the crook of his cane up behind it – in his mind, this imaginary hole was a par four, and he should be well on the putting green by now. "Don't worry, you can do whatever you want, too. I've always wanted to try some experimental grafting. Gorilla's may have smaller testicles than humans relative to their size, but – "

"You want to use this guy as a lab rat and you're bringing Cuddy up here to stop you?"

Sidling up to the paper ball, he readied himself – from here it was only a few feet to Chase's left shoe, an easy shot, though the temptation to hit harder and aim higher was enticing. "What makes you think she'll stop me?"

Cameron returned, breezing in the doorway just as the wad of paper thudded against Chase's heel. She was alone.

"Where's Cuddy?"

Even as he righted his cane and pressed the button on his speed dial, he knew that when he held the phone up to his ear he'd get nothing but a few rings and the tinny recording on her voicemail.

"Her office was locked and the blinds were closed. It looks like she's gone for the…. House?"

But he was already out the door.

"Why does he have that stick?"

"His leg hurts. It helps him walk."

Cuddy tenderly turned the child and lifted his arm, rubbing ointment onto the burns on his skin, covering the worst of them with colorful Band-Aids. As soon as House had left, she had snagged the first nurse that had passed, sending her first to the clinic for some medical supplies and then down to the cafeteria to get Ari something to eat.

At first, Cuddy had tried to question the boy as she tended to his wounds, but he had been unwilling to discuss them, his last name, or anything about his home life. Gentle as it was, the interrogation had been almost painful, and she had finally given up. Ari had been content to sit in silence for all of thirty seconds before it soon became clear that while he may have been uneasy answering any questions, he had no problem asking them.

"Why?"

"The muscle in his leg…." How did you explain an infarction and the concept of muscle death to someone who had yet to grasp all the letters in the alphabet? It wasn't as simple as having broken a bone or hurt it in an accident. "… is sick."

"Will it get better?"

Probably not was the real answer, but not one she wanted to give. "It's been that way for a long time."

Ari seemed to consider this. Expecting his next question to press the issue further, Cuddy let her brain flutter into overdrive as she struggled to simplify medical-speak into everyday English, then breaking that down even further into something a child would understand. She shouldn't have bothered.

"Are you 'n' him married?"

She laughed softly, trying not to seem taken aback. It was a ridiculous question… wasn't it? "No."

"Why not? Are you gonna?"

This she evaded, though not very nimbly, checking to make sure she had treated all his wounds before lowering his shirt. "Better?"

Ari ignored her question just as she had his, his dark eyes meeting hers with a look that plainly said he wasn't going to fall for her tricks. "He likes you. He prolly already knows you're pretty."

It was a lopsided compliment, most certainly not at all intended, but she'd take it anyway, blushing. She ruffled his hair, the gesture coming to her automatically, just feeling right. "You're pretty handsome yourself."

Ari nodded vigorously, adorably, as if there were no need to point out something so evident. "Mommy use'ta say that."

The past tense wasn't lost on her, and Cuddy spent a few precious seconds struggling to find a way to capitalize on this new information without scaring the boy back into silence. She lost her chance.

A knock sounded. The nurse she had stopped in the hall entered with a tray, setting it down on the table in front of them, pointedly but silently picking up a plastic container of salad and a steaming cup of coffee and placing them on Cuddy's desk. She refused to meet her boss's eye, leaving quickly – obviously relieved – at Cuddy's nod.

A hamburger, the bun dotted with sesame seeds; a carton of milk; a plastic cup filled with quivering cubes of lime Jell-O, topped with a dollop of whipped cream. Ari eyed it all hungrily.

"Go ahead," Cuddy softly reassured him, wiping the burn ointment from her fingers with a napkin and reaching to open the milk carton.

The boy took a bite of the hamburger, placing it back on the plate and chewing thoughtfully while picking at the sesame seeds on the bun, finally slipping the ketchup-smothered patty from the bread and eating more eagerly. Cuddy watched him with amusement – after the first few bites, he carefully avoided the edges of the burger, instead hollowing it, not minding that this process covered his face and fingers with ketchup. Catching her eyes on him, he paused, holding the half-eaten hamburger out to her. "Wanna bite?"

Grinning, she shook her head. "But thank you."

Ari shrugged, piling the remains of the hamburger on the mostly uneaten bun, pausing to gulp his milk and bring the Jell-O cup to his mouth, licking off the whipped cream and picking at the jiggling, fluorescent cubes with his fingers. His eyelids began to droop after a few moments of this, head nodding, and with his belly full, it wasn't long before he leaned his head against the arm of the sofa and closed his eyes.

Cuddy gingerly plucked the cup of Jell-O from his sticky fingers and wiped the ketchup from his face with a napkin, rising to retrieve her jacket from the coat rack and draping it over his sleeping form. Returning to her desk, her eyes flicked to the clock in the corner of her computer screen. It had been twenty-two minutes since House had promised to return. She would allow him five more, but then she was calling Child Services – something, she knew, she should have done twenty minutes ago, despite House's pleading; it would have to be done to matter what information he brought her.

Sliding the salad and coffee aside, she picked up a single elastic band without a thought and rapidly began twisting it with both hands. She hated the acrid scent of rubber that would stick to her fingers afterward, but by the time the motions of her hands registered, the damage had always already been done.

God, her head was pounding again, and though she knew she was lucky the flu hadn't hit her any harder than this, still she half-wished she had given in and stayed home today.

Ari sighed in his sleep, kicking off the makeshift covers, his thumb finding its way into his mouth. She rose and picked up her coat, tenderly smoothing it over the sleeping boy, and though she knew there were a dozen medical reasons why she should have taken his thumb from his mouth, she didn't have the heart to do it. Her fingers brushed his neck and shoulder as she tucked the jacket around him, and he snuggled into her touch.

Her back was to the door when she heard it open. "You should have been here five minutes ago," she murmured, trying for stern but failing as Ari's lashes fluttered and she brushed the auburn curls back from his face.

The sound of the door quietly shutting and the click of the lock were her only answer. The blinds clattered as they were roughly drawn closed, and she knew, even before a strange hand clamped bruisingly around her upper arm, that she wouldn't find House behind her.

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